Scratch (6 page)

This time, it was Jeff who screamed. I was too busy crying.
 

The jaws made a cracking noise as the snake worked to swallow its meal. Now, only Josie’s lifeless feet were visible. All I could think of at that moment was Dylan. I raised the pistol and fired. The gun jerked in my hand, and my arm tingled. The explosion was deafening, and the flash left little pinprick circles of light floating before my eyes. I don’t know if I hit Scratch or not, although given its size, it would have been kind of hard to miss. One thing is for certain though. I definitely pissed it off.
 

Josie disappeared down the creature’s gullet. For a moment, its septic mouth opened even wider. The stench was revolting. I could only imagine the amount of infectious microorganisms that probably called that gaping orifice home. Then, staring at us with angry, baleful eyes, Old Scratch sucked in a lungful of air, making its body appear even thicker. The lump that was Josie slid further down its length.
 

A second explosion startled me, and I jumped. Next to me, I heard the click-clack of Jeff working the lever on his rifle. Then it roared again as he fired another shot. The snake hissed in response. It flattened its head into a triangular shape, and then flattened its body as well. As I took aim, it coiled up and prepared to strike.
 

Jeff and I fired at the same time. The gunshots reverberated in the small space. The serpent writhed, squirming in pain. Its tail rose up from behind the couch, revealing a double row of scales on the underside. Then it slammed the tip of its tail against the wall, cracking the plaster. The snake spat, launching a glob of foul-smelling saliva at us. It splattered against the wall and dribbled down like rancid yogurt.
 

Jeff scrambled to reload, fumbling for the bullets in his jacket pocket. The rifle shook in his trembling hands. Thin lines of blood trickled from the creature’s hide and dripped onto the wet carpet. I felt a surge of adrenalin, knowing that we’d injured it. With only three shots left, I figured I should make them count, and aimed for its eyes. Before I could pull the trigger, the snake’s head darted forward. Scratch moved like lightning. One moment, it was behind the recliner. The next, it struck at us. I managed to dodge the strike, more out of instinct than skill, but one of its teeth ripped through my jacket, slashing the fabric. I panicked, thinking I’d been bitten, and stumbled backward. The creature struck three more times in rapid succession. The first blow caught Jeff’s arm, and the rifle slipped from his hands. The second strike tagged his waist. The third nailed his leg. Shrieking, Jeff beat at the creature with his fists, and then Scratch withdrew.
 

Still clutching the pistol, I grabbed Jeff under his arms and pulled him backward into the foyer. In the living room, Old Scratch struck again, lashing out at the place where we’d been standing seconds before. It slammed against the wall, and the pictures in the hallway fell to the floor. Glass shattered. The house’s foundation groaned.
 

My hands and arms felt warm and wet as I dragged Jeff down the hall. I glanced down and saw that they were red. At first, I thought that maybe the snake had bitten me after all, but then I realized that it was Jeff’s blood—and a lot of it. I couldn’t tell if his wounds were deep because his clothing was in the way. I guessed that the snake might have some kind of anticoagulant in its saliva, because he was bleeding so badly. He moaned and mumbled, and his skin was alabaster and cold. He didn’t seem to be having trouble breathing, and he wasn’t swelling up or anything like that, so I figured his symptoms were related to shock and blood loss, rather than any venom. As far as I knew, Pennsylvania’s water snakes were non-poisonous. I didn’t think it would be any different for a giant one.
 

As we neared the kitchen, the hallways darkened even more. Scratch’s shadow fell across us. He loomed in the door, his head raised into the air, grazing against the ceiling, while his body remained hidden in the living room. He flattened his head into a triangular shape again, paused, and then slowly slithered forward, tongue flicking in and out of his mouth.
 

“Shit!” Jeff was dead weight in my arms. “Come on, Jeff. We need to move faster. Wake up!”
 

As Scratch drew closer, I realized that, even if we made it into the kitchen, there would be no way I could navigate Jeff through all the debris and get us out of the house in time. Pulling him through the window was obviously out. The snake would snatch him from my grasp. And I couldn’t rely on the backdoor being unlocked. If I had to mess with the deadbolt, that few seconds delay could cost one of us our lives. Instead, I yanked Jeff in the direction of the stairs, and we retreated up onto the second floor. Exhausted and weakened by fear, I collapsed on the landing, pulling Jeff down on top of me. He groaned, but his eyes remained closed. I pointed the handgun down the stairs, waiting.
 

It occurred to me that I was no longer thinking of Scratch as an ‘it’, but a ‘him’.
 

I held my breath as the snake came into view. But instead of pursuing us, Old Scratch slid into the kitchen. I saw his shadow on the wall as he passed. The house creaked and shuddered as he shoved his way through the window again. Maybe our bullets had taught him a lesson. Maybe we’d hurt him, and he’d had enough.
 

Or maybe he was just sated, and had decided to go back to the river and digest his three-course meal. The thought came out of nowhere. I was shocked by my own callousness. But then I did something worse. As horrible as it sounds, I snickered at the joke. Three-course meal! It was funny. The laughter was a welcome alternative to screaming, which was what I really wanted to do, deep down inside.
 

Sunlight streamed through Thena’s windows as the last remnants of the storm passed on. I don’t know how long we sat there. A few seconds, probably, although it seemed much longer. I must have drifted off because the shouts from outside startled me. There were a number of different voices—men’s voices—all crying out in alarm. I carefully climbed out from under Jeff, took off my torn jacket, and rolled it up into a ball. Then I put it under his head and stood up. I felt woozy, and the stairway seemed to tilt. I grabbed the rail with my free hand and hung on tight. I wondered if maybe I’d been bit after all, and checked myself again. I decided that it was just shock.
 

“Stay here, Jeff. I’ll get help.”
 

If he heard me, he gave no indication. “Jeff? Just stay here. Don’t move.”
 

My words were slurred just a little bit. Shock, most likely. Gripping the handrail, I stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen, just as Scratch’s tail squeezed through the window. The cries of panic and disbelief were louder now. I walked to the back door and flung it open. Then I carefully made my way to the side of the house and peered around the corner. Scratch was slithering towards the creek, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. His tail thrashed in anger or pain—or both. Between me and him were two Hellam Township EMTs, a Pennsylvania State Trooper, and four volunteer firemen from the Craley firehouse, and one from East Prospect. I recognized their uniforms, and wondered why there were emergency respondents from different townships and boroughs. I found out later that much of York County had flooded, and dispatchers were answering calls by sending whoever was available. I didn’t know if they were there through coincidence or if Marlena had gotten through on the cell phone. It didn’t matter. All of them were pointing at the snake, staring at him in disbelief. I knew how they felt. I’d reacted that way too, at first. It seemed like a million years ago now.
 

“I need help,” I called, and when they didn’t hear me, I raised my voice and tried again. A few of them turned, their eyes darting warily to the gun in my hand. The State Trooper, who had been aiming his firearm at Old Scratch, spun around and leveled it at me instead. I let the Taurus fall to the ground and raised my hands.
 

“Please,” I said. “Don’t shoot! I need help. My neighbor is hurt.”
 

They rushed to me, still throwing backward glances over their shoulders as Scratch plunged into the rushing floodwaters. One of the EMTs told me to sit down, but I refused, insisting that they check on Jeff first.
 

“What the hell was that thing?” One of the firemen gaped at the creek, watching the serpentine form slide beneath the waves. I followed his gaze, and felt the blood rush from my head. My breath hitched in my chest.
 

“Take it easy,” the EMT said. “You’re in shock. I don’t blame you. I would be too, after seeing that snake.”
 

The fog had lifted, and on the other side of the creek, I saw Dylan running through the yard, heading towards the flooded stream. Marlena and Sanchez chased after him, but Dylan had a good head start.
 

Scratch paused. His head broke the water, and then turned towards our side of the bank, watching my son. Dylan drew closer. The snake changed course.
 

“Get back,” I screamed, knowing full well that Dylan couldn’t hear me over the roar of the flood. “Dylan, get away from there!”
 

The rescue crew all turned back towards the creek. Their eyes widened as they saw what I saw.
 

Scratch’s tail splashed the water, sending a plume into the sky.
 

The State Trooper fired a round. I heard a second gunshot go off next to me. I glanced down and was surprised to find the Taurus in my hand again. The final shot had been my own.
 

Then I collapsed, falling face first into a puddle, and knew no more.

That was a year ago. Another spring has come around, making it all seem fresh again. In truth, not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought about it. There are times where I simply want to start screaming, but I’m afraid that if I start, I’ll never be able to stop. Scratch vanished with me and the State Trooper’s final bullets. We don’t know if we killed it or not. All we know is that the snake ducked beneath the surface and didn’t come back up. There were ten witnesses—me, Jeff, and the emergency response crews. Thankfully, Dylan and Marlena had been too far away from the stream to catch a glimpse of the creature. That’s saved them innumerable bad dreams.
 

I have the nightmares so that they don’t have to.
 

I don’t know how they did it, but the cops and the firemen managed to keep the whole thing out of the paper.
The York Daily Record
and
the York Dispatch
ran a story simply stating that Thena and her children died in the flood. It didn’t say how they died. I didn’t tell anybody, including Marlena. I couldn’t bring myself to. How would she ever feel safe again if I told her the truth? How would she trust me to keep her safe?
 

Jeff told Anne-Marie, but she didn’t believe him. Oh, she didn’t think he was lying or anything like that. But she insisted that he’d hallucinated the whole thing while he was in shock. Maybe she believed that, deep down inside, and maybe she didn’t. Maybe her scoffing at his tale was her own internal defense mechanism, keeping her safe from the all-too terrible truth. If you ask her to explain Jeff’s scars, she says they came from debris in the water—barbed wire, scrap metal, anything but the bit of a giant snake.
 

The experience changed Jeff. He’s not the same. He seems older now. His hair was salt and peppered before, but now it’s almost pure white. He walks slower, and on rainy days he limps. He’s developed a nervous cough, and there are dark, ever-present circles under his eyes.
 

I’ve changed, too. I don’t sleep much, anymore, and when I do, my dreams are bad. I dream about Scratch. He haunts my waking hours, too. I sit in my office, once a place of refuge, and all I do is think about him. He pops up in my artwork. Worse, I’ll feel eyes on me, and then I get up and check the corners, looking for snakes.
 

I don’t go near the creek, and I avoid the marsh. Too many places there for a snake to hide—even one as big as Old Scratch. In fact, I don’t go outside much at all anymore. Every time Dylan asks if he can go out and play, I come up with excuses or distractions to keep him inside.
 

Marlena has noticed. She was patient and understanding at first. After all, I’d been through a traumatic experience, even if she didn’t know all the details of what had occurred. But now, her patience is at an end. She dropped the hammer yesterday, insisting that I get some help. She told me I was suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and that you didn’t have to live through a war to get it.
 

We can’t stay here anymore. We need to move. Need to leave it all behind and start somewhere new. Somewhere safe. But I don’t know where that place is.
 

I don’t know how to tell Marlena that everything is different now. That everything has changed. I meant it when I said that I would die for my family, without a moment’s hesitation. It is my duty to protect them from harm. To keep them safe. I used to think I was pretty good at that, but I know better now. There are things in this world that you can’t protect your family from. Mother Nature is the fiercest predator of all, and if she comes for your loved ones, there’s not a damned thing you can do to prevent it. She’ll take them in an instant, like a bolt of lightning flashing down from a stormy sky.
 

Or a snake, hiding in the water and then darting forth.
 

The Devil is out there, and it’s just a matter of time before we see him again.
 

Our yard is full of May flowers. April showers brought them. But April showers bring something else, too, and the weatherman says there’s a storm coming.